


Taking the Deal

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: Iron Squib and Other Magical Tales [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Avenger Harry Potter, Gen, Magic, Not Really Character Death, cameos by other MCU characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 16:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17646209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: Harry lost control after believing his only child, Tony, died in the Battle of New York. His explosion resulted in a massive loss of life and limb and a one way ticket to the deepest cell in Azkaban. Unless, of course, he takes the deal that's offered. Saving the life of Phil Coulson is just the icing on top.





	Taking the Deal

**Author's Note:**

> So this is pretty much the answer to how Coulson survived and why no one questions it.  
> Which is kind of funny considering no one that's read this series or commented on the others has questioned it either. So... I guess the explanation given kinda works?

The file folder was thrown onto the desk before the man in the magic suppressing shackles. Not that they really did much good with this particular prisoner. The only reason he was as compliant and subdued as he was had been the nature of his guards. Or so they thought. It was a well known fact that this prisoner was affected by their presence more than most other wizards were.

The folder was marked with a logo he was familiar with only because he had been refusing them for years. He made no move to take the folder, even though his chains permitted him just enough movement to do so.

"You cut the British Auror Corps by one third. Of the remaining, half are in St. Mungoes suffering from a wide range of injuries due to the shock-wave you created when you blew up." She threw another file folder down for him, one with the familiar crest of the Wizengmont of Magical Britain. "This is the official record of the vote calling for your arrest and execution under the Dark Magic laws you personally spoke out and voted against back in the eighties."

The man chained down to the floor, clad in the grey and black prison stripes of Azkaban robes, finally looked up at her. She was young, but not as young as he looked. Haunted, almost glowing green eyes stared at her in silence. His wild black hair was matted and clotted with dirt and dried blood. She didn't want to speculate how much was his and how much was...

They hadn't even cleaned him when they threw him into the cell and slammed the door behind him.

She seated herself across from him, and he looked past her to a middle aged man in traditional solicitor robes. "My superiors feel that you should be locked away in the deepest part of Azkaban with your own personal demons and left to die."

"It's no less than what I deserve," he said. "I can't die, and I've nothing left to live for. Just lock me up and let me waste away."

"No. I want to know why you did it."

"There's no point. It happened. People died. I deserve to be punished for it according to the law of the land."

"Accidents happen. I saw the wreckage Lord Potter. This was not on purpose. Whatever happened, you are not at fault here."

"The law says otherwise. And even as the Boy-Who-Lived I am not above the law."

"The law is unjust," she said flatly. "But I am not here to argue the law. I am here to offer you a way out. A way to, I don't know, redeem yourself."

He turned his gaze from her to the man, then back to her again before he sighed and reached for the first folder.

She sighed in relief. At least he seemed to be considering it. "An opportunity has fallen into our lap. The no-maj have broken numerous international treaties with the magical governments of the world. As a result we had actual living, breathing gods fighting on American soil. Our no-maj counterparts, SHIELD, needs magical oversight."

"So the pirate gets to add me to his boy band after all as long as I say yes."

"Not quite. There are procedures that must be followed. My superiors think I'm insane for choosing you over all the other candidates for this reassignment."

He tossed the folder back onto the table and leaned back in disgust. "What makes you think I'll say yes?"

"I'm willing to negotiate with you, within reason. Tell me what you want Lord Potter. I will do my best to ensure you receive it."

"You can't get me what I want. No one can."

For the first time since Harry had been brought to the interrogation room, the third warm body spoke. "It was noticed that the explosion at Potter Manor took place within thirty minutes of the Battle of New York ending. The timing is suspicious since the entire situation was contained to one location. Did you lose someone in the battle?" he asked, using his wand to float an envelope to the table. The woman turned in her seat to glare at him.

"I told you we weren't going to use those methods."

"Lord Potter is old school, Anita. And he doesn't like being manipulated. Honesty goes a long way with him."

"You've read my files," Harry said calmly.

"It's important to know your opponent, Lord Potter." The man met his gaze. "Your files seem to be glaringly incomplete your Lordship," he said as Harry picked up the envelope and tore it open.

Black and white muggle photographs spilled out onto the table.

"These were collected over the years from muggle reporters and photographers who started staking out specific locations around the world. Places muggles shouldn't know about. Does anyone else know that Tony Stark is a squib?"

Harry shoved the pictures away, trying to contain his anger. "Yes, I know Mr. Stark. We are good friends."

"How good? The man's been spotted in Ottery St. Catchpole often enough to raise questions. Though... no one can find a picture more recent than four months before his kidnapping in 2008."

"The... thing in his chest will explode if I go near him. Magic and muggle technology can't mix."

"Jordan... Stop. You're making him angry."

"Good," the man said, then went in for the kill. "It must be hard carrying on a relationship if you can't get close enough to-"

"You're chasing down the wrong crup if you finish that sentence. I don't think you know what you're doing."

The woman, Anita, stood and took her partner by the arm. "You need to back off."

"Listen to Anita, Jordan. You don't want to end up like those aurors now would you?"

"Is that a threat, Lord Potter?"

"It's a bloody promise mate. You come in here with your prick out ready to show how big a man you are. Throw these in my face when it looks like the young lady is about to show you up and get me to cooperate. Just so you can crawl back to your desk job and brag to your other useless fellows about how you broke the big bad Harry Potter. Is that it?" He shook his head and the Dementors on either side of him began to shrink back.

The chains popped from their moorings in the floor and he stood. "On the record, Miss Anita," he said, knowing the dicta-quills set to monitor the room would be hurriedly scratching away. "Control of my magic is dependent on my emotional state. There are records that go all the way back to my days at Hogwarts that show this. It is also noted extensively in my personnel records at both the British Ministry as well as the WARD offices at the ICW records department in Belfast. On the day of the incident my emotional state was in great distress and my control became compromised. This is due to the fact that half an hour earlier the child I was forced to give up during the Second Voldemort War, someone who is NOT listed in my records anywhere due to that very same war, had just sacrificed himself to save New York City and the world. You may contact my account managers at Gringotts to confirm that I received a phone call during the meeting, and I heard his last words to anyone on this earth."

Anita froze. Jordan stared at him wide-eyed at the realization of what Lord Potter had just said. In light of this new information, his assumptions of the nature of Lord Potter and the not-so-muggle Tony Stark were glaringly wrong.

"I told him, as he was flying a muggle bomb into space, not to sacrifice himself. That there ha to be another way to save everyone and not to make the same sacrifice I once had to make. He said to me, _'Not this time, pops. I'm a Potter, right? This is what we do. Who knows, I might even get to see mom.'_ Not a few seconds later the signal dropped and my son was dead. I have had those words circling through my thoughts every waking moment since. Tell me, Miss Anita, what parent wouldn't mourn the death of their child? I do not know why the vault I had built for the sole purpose of containing my magic failed when not one month ago it was in perfect working order. But the fact remains I have lost everything and I am a danger to all around me." He stopped only to breathe a moment. "You cannot raise the dead. And I have yet to meet anyone or anything that can kill me so I might finally be with my family again. There is nothing else that I want, and therefore there is nothing you can give me. Azkaban is the only place left that can possibly hold me."

Jordan instantly spoke, eyeing the Dementors as they continued to crouch back away from their prisoner. Almost as if in... fear. "He's alive," he blurted out in the hopes that it might settle the man once again.

"You know who I am and what I can do. Do not lie to me."

"He's not lying," Anita said. "Tony Stark survived. After he delivered the payload, he fell back through the portal right before it closed. The Iron Man armor saved his life. It held even after he hit the ground."

"He's... He's really alive?"

"Yes. And if you take this deal you will be able to see him for yourself."

He looked from one to the other once more, then stopped on Jordan. "You. Out. And take the soul sucking twins with you."

 

**o0o**

 

He was allowed a shower and a change of clothes before he was brought back to the interrogation room to wait.

Eventually, Anita returned with a box bearing the WARD insignia. She set it down and opened the box by pressing a pendant hanging around her neck into the an indention on the lid. The locks disengaged and she opened it. "You willingly surrendered you wand when you were brought in. Why is that?"

"Your clearance isn't high enough to know that information."

She nodded and hummed. "I was just curious," she said as she removed item after item. A few velvet pouches. "The clothes you were wearing were... disposed of at Azkaban. I hope you weren't too attached to them."

"Not particularly. They were a set of formal robes I only wore when doing business."

"Good. You'll not be needing any robes other than perhaps a set of dueling robes, or perhaps battle robes. Each Avenger has their own unique uniform. You will be no different. I leave that up to your discretion. Your current handle with WARD will be your handle with SHIELD. Due to the treaties and the International Statute of Secrecy all records pertaining to you will be in hard copy format only. All reports will be given in writing using standard anti-theft materials and spell work. Your living arrangements will be determined by SHIELD upon your official addition to the team. You will have a handler. Jordan-"

"I won't work with him."

"I know he came across as-"

"The son of a bitch attempted to blackmail me believing my son was my lover. He's a complete dunderhead and I wouldn't trust him with a hard-boiled egg let alone my secrets and security. Find someone else or I'll walk right back into that cell at the bottom of Azkaban."

She sighed and rubbed at her temples. She'd been told repeatedly this was a bad idea. That even if the incident in the Highlands hadn't happened, trying to work with Agent Grim was a pain in the ass and not worth the trouble. That's why when his unit had disbanded, no one else would work with him.

"Is that your only objection thus far, Lord Potter?"

"No. I don't want the team to know who I am. I want complete anonymity. Even from my son."

"But-"

"No buts. Tony being Tony will think I'm there because I don't think he can handle it. I know that he can, especially now. I will make up my own excuses for my civilian identity moving to New York. I will not have my private life looked into. This is a job. Nothing more."

"Anything else?"

"Hermione and Ronald Weasley are sworn in on this. In the event that I need assistance, I don't trust anyone else. And they know how to talk me back down so that there is not another Scotland. In the event something were to happen to me, it will save SHIELD a massive headache dealing with Hermione especially. She will personally burn the entire organization to the ground just for a scrap of information telling her I am safe or in need of help."

She sighed again. "I'll make a note of it in your file. On one condition."

"If it gets me what I want, name it."

"Director Fury, to whom the Avengers answer to directly, has made a request as part of this deal. We save his best and most reliable agent, and he will allow one favor in return. I need not tell you the value of having a man like Director Fury owing a personal favor..."

"Any favor?"

"Any favor that does not violate the mission of SHIELD."

Harry smiled darkly. "You want me to save the man so that Fury owes me and no one else, don't you? Why? Any healer of at least a Morganna level of power can do it. You don't need me-"

"Lord Potter, many years ago you saved my grandfather's life. He died owing you a life debt. A debt that was passed to my father, and then when he died in New York a very short time ago, it passed to me."

"I saved a lot of people's lives by killing that bastard."

"True. And more people should be grateful for what you did. But I would not be here today if not for your personal sacrifice in the rescue of my grandfather from Malfoy Manor."

Harry stiffened. It had been a very long time since anyone mentioned... THAT particular stretch of time. "What's your name? Your full name."

"Antigone Helen Ollivander," she said. "My father met my mother at St. Mungoes when visiting my grandfather after his rescue. She was my grandfather's nurse. So you see, Lord Potter. I owe you quite a lot and am risking not just my career, but also my personal pride in this. Can you save SHIELD agent Phil Coulson from certain death?"

"I can damn well try, Miss Ollivander," he said. "Because I want a one on one, off the record, no surveillance whatsoever meeting with Director Fury."

She gave a nod. His request was odd, but his cooperation was exactly what she wanted to hear. "I'll find a handler for you better suited to your... unorthodox methods and personality. A standard WARD uniform will arrive for you within the hour. Is there any special requests you'd like to make at this time Lord Potter?"

"Yes. There's a safe house in New York that I've used in the past. Specifically the one in Brooklyn. I want it signed to me free and clear to whatever alias I deem best. And the use of my personal house elf, Kreacher. I know in the states house elves tend to be feral and owning one isn't exactly legal..."

"Consider it done. The house elf issue is easily sorted, as it is my understanding he was given to you as part of an inheritance. Just make sure your permit for him is up to date. It will take time to get the safe house sorted, but I will see to it that it is yours by the time you join the team."

 

**o0o**

 

Director Fury had met them personally when they arrived at the secure SHIELD medical facility.

"Masks off gentlemen," Maria Hill said to the two men standing behind the WARD representative, Anita.

"Do you want us to save your friend or not?" she challenged. "Because if those masks come off, this deal falls through right here and now. You will not speak to them. They will not speak to you. We do not officially exist."

As they squabbled, a fourth figure slipped in unnoticed from another direction. Careful not to get caught on anything, he edged around them and made his way through the corridors unseen.

Checking the scrap of parchment he had been given before their arrival, he ticked the numbers off as he went until at last, he found the correct room.

A whispered incantation and cameras simply stopped. Another and the door was unlocked. As he slipped into the room, the cameras in the corridor started up again while those in the room shorted out altogether.

The slippery, silky fabric was yanked off and Harry Potter tucked it into the pocket of his borrowed robes. From another pocket was taken an old and battered mokeskin pouch. A few glass bottles were pulled out with one hand while the other clutched an ancient wand of Elder wood tightly as he murmured the spells he needed.

He had to work quickly and efficiently, something he learned to do on active battlefields.

At the sound of footsteps outside the room, he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and cast a quick charm to obscure his features and voice, hiding his identity. The wand was put away and the vials opened one by one. Putrid, but powerful healing liquids were poured down the man's throat. Another was used on patches of skin where wounds had been reopened by the early removal of stitches and staples that would prevent the rapid healing.

He moved to the other side of the bed, placing the man between himself and the door as it was kicked in and security swarmed inside, guns pointing towards him.

"Wait for it," he said, holding up a hand. "Three. Two..."

His patient gasped, eyes opening for just a moment as he let out a scream. Then... Silence. His breathing, though still not quite steady, came much easier than it had been. The hole in his chest was gone. Now a tender, pink patch of skin.

"Who the hell do you think you are?!"

"Agents, stand down," Director Fury said as he stepped into the room behind Maria. "Agent Grim."

"I know this great leather bar in Tahiti. Every Friday is Pirate Night."

"You think you're funny?"

Though they couldn't see it, he smiled. "Nah. But my friends tell me I can be pretty sassy." A pause. "I saved your boy toy, Captain Bondage. His memory's going to be scrambled a bit, but I'm sure with all your fancy toys you'll be able to figure that out."

He allowed himself to be escorted out but did stop at the door. "Oh, by the way. I added a bit of charm work. No one will question why he's up and about. And if they do... well... they'll just notice something else entirely. Handy little piece of mind magic."

 

**o0o**

 

In the magical world, there were four types of people. Wizards and witches were in one category. Squibs another. Then there were the humanoid creatures - those who were part creature, like the Delacours of France. And also those who became creatures... vampires, werewolves, and the like. Then there were warlocks. Individuals with such immense natural magical power that they had become entities of magic itself. Merlin was one such man, a master of the natural magics of the Earth.

In the modern era of magic, however, the term 'sorcerer' among the magical community had taken on a new meaning... to those who knew of them. And thus a fifth classification type was added, but only to those who were considered 'in the know'.

Until now, Harry Potter, a Warlock Class magical entity, had not a single clue about the sorcerers. Or rather... the muggles who had learned to borrow magic from the world around them.

"So you're the Sorcerer Supreme," Harry said, looking the man up and down. "Nice cape. Reminds me of a wizard I knew once. Are you sure it goes with those gloves though, Mr. Strange?"

The man standing beside Harry sighed. "Please don't start an international incident already..."

"And you're the man that can't die. Tell me, how does that work, Mr. Potter?"

"Why don't you stab me in the chest and find out, Mr. Strange," he replied as he pushed past the man. The cape gave a rude gesture towards him in his wake.

"My thoughts exactly," Stephen Strange agreed. "How long am I stuck babysitting him?"

"Six months," Warren Kline said. "Possibly seven."

There came a shout from up the stairs. "Hey Strange!" Harry shouted. "What's with this glowy green stone thing?! Is it supposed to do that?! It's not radioactive or something right?!"

Kline grinned. "He's your problem now, Dr. Strange."

"Goddamn wizards..." Strange grumbled as he nodded towards the stairs. "Cloak, go restrain him until I get there."

 

**o0o**

 

Harry sat in the floor, his legs crossed, elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his hands as he watched Dr. Strange's portly friend performing muggle sorcery. Green eyes were wide as he watched the intricate patterns and mandalas forming in the air around the man's hands. The movements were absolutely captivating, the colors so vibrant and pure.

"That was..." he started when the man had finished. "That was bloody amazing!" he exclaimed, getting to his feet and rushing to the man's side. "Teach me."

"It takes many years of study to-"

"Yes yes I know. I've been reading in the library. Trust me, I'm a quick study. I'd tell you to ask my teachers but, well, they're all dead by now."

Eventually Harry convinced Wong to show him how to conjure a simple shield by summoning the ambient magic of the environment around him. So Harry in return showed him a shield of his own. The Patronus. "I call him Spangles," he said as the glowing bald eagle soared around the room searching for danger. Finding none, it came and perched on his shoulder, rubbed it's head against his hair, and then dissipated.

Though Wong could not perform the magic Harry showed to him he felt indebted to the man and often after that evening the two would be exchanging magic tricks. Wong, it turned out, had a very dark sense of humor that Harry could appreciate. The two got on like a house on fire, and once Harry introduced the man to the wonders of Weasley Wizard Wheezes... well...

Strange started checking all his food and drink for a while after that.

 

**o0o**

 

"You know that charm you put on Agent Coulson?" Kline asked as he handed Harry his new uniforms. "The one that makes anyone that questions how the man is alive notice something else?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Stark might have noticed and decided to focus on something else entirely."

"What's that got to do with me?" Harry asked as he held up the coat and inspected it. It was identical to his old one, save for the lighter weight fabric. A muggle fabric made of some synthetic material. Kevlar, he thought. As long as it could hold the abundance of magic he would weave into it, he could care less if it was made of straw. As long as it got to job done.

"Yeah, what did he focus on then?"

"You," Kline said with a smirk. "Did he recognize some of the paperwork?"

"Probably. He's never had to sign it himself being what and who he is, but it's not like he could have sat out while the others asked mommy and daddy for permission to play with me."

There was a second package, and he tore into it. His hard green gaze softened as he picked up the old uniform. It had hardly seen the light of day, given he avoided all social functions like the plague.

"Mr. Weasley sent that along with your house elf. On occasion, you may be called upon to attend a more formal function with the others for publicity purposes."

Harry scoffed, but regardless he put the formal Unspeakable dueling robes down and admired the quality. Skin from the very basilisk he slayed at age 12 was used in the creation of his one of a kind robes. A flat square box sat amidst the robes, inside he knew he would find every medal and honor he had ever been awarded. Starting with his very first Order of Merlin First Class for killing Lord Voldemort.

He pushed these aside. "So, when do I finally go into the field?"

"Monday. Bright and early at Avengers Tower. You'll be in full uniform and introduced to the team as Agent Grim. What you do or don't tell them after that is your business. As long as you work with them and I don't get called in to deal with you, we're good."

"And my apartment?"

"Nearly finished. You'll also have accommodations in the Tower meeting the very strict criteria you requested."

Harry nodded and shrunk down the uniforms as well as his set of formals and tucked them into his pocket. He couldn't wait to get out of his current rooms. Not that he didn't like Bleaker Street. He loved it, actually. He just really couldn't stand Stephen Strange.

 

**o0o**

 

Harry watched them from beneath his hood and behind the darkness of the Obscurius Imitatus spell. One that Hermione had created specially for him during the war after he and Luna had been rescued. It was fitting on a certain level really. Obscurials were known for their powerful and uncontrollable bursts of devastating magic.

The only difference between himself and a true Obscurial in the end was the fact that he didn't hate his magic. He didn't hate himself for his magic. He hated himself, yes. But to Harry his only truly redeeming quality was his magic.

They did not know what to make of him with his identity hidden even from them. A partial list of his abilities and no background to find anywhere. At least, not anywhere Tony would instinctively look. Harry watched, and he listened to them. He observed very carefully how they interacted and then, quite calmly, he spoke when no one expected it.

"I imagine this may be quite jarring for you, especially you Mr. Barton, considering your experience with magic thus far. If you like I can show you harmless and beneficial magic. For example," he said, waving his hand. Empty take-away coffee cups collected themselves and tossed themselves into a trash bin while the lone aluminum energy drink cans from Tony went into a recycling bin. "I need never leave my seat to throw away the rubbish." He waved his other hand, flicking his fingers some and drawing a pen and paper to himself. He scribbled on it before floating the paper over to the man.

"What... did he just- that's impossible."

Harry chuckled, knowing his voice was altered by the Obscurius Imitatus spell. "Says the man who turns green and turns into a massive rage monster. Every one of us in this room is an impossible creature, Dr. Banner. We defy all logic and the laws of physics on a daily basis. Your body should not be able to do what it does and yet here you are." Harry shrugged. "That one over there doesn't want to tell people she has a natural heightened awareness of everything and everyone around her. My people call it Auric Sense. All she lacks is the ability to see the Auric field itself, but she can feel it and the changes in it. This allows her a sort of advanced warning and the ability to better anticipate her opponents allowing her to take an advantage in battle by being three steps ahead."

Natasha stared at him without actually doing so. Harry smirked. Oh, he did more than just read their files and mission records during his time at Bleaker Street. "That's quite a story, Grim," she said. "What led you to that conclusion?"

"It's common for those with that ability to keep a minimal distance from others as a sort of buffer. Usually three to five feet. The entire time I've been here you've kept your distance from your teammates, never venturing closer than exactly three feet. Save for Mr. Barton. Though given his enhanced vision and highly tuned reflexes he isn't too worried about you suddenly stabbing him in the neck any time soon, and you know he'd rather take a flying leap off a very long pier than harm you. However the same can't be said of the others."

Tony rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but didn't get the chance. "I was warned about you, Mr. Stark. You really don't want me to point out what exactly makes you part of this merry band of misfits. Your armor isn't the only thing that makes you... different."

He felt another set of eyes on him, and turned his attention to Steve. "Too easy," he said, his heart clenching at the words. "Star spangled grandpa."

This got a laugh from Tony and Clint. A slight chuckle from Bruce. But beneath his hood, Harry was frowning.

 

**o0o**

 

"I have two sets of memories."

The statement caught him off guard as he handed over the parchment scroll with his report on it. He knew typed and printed was preferred, but between his terrible handwriting and archaic mode of record keeping he just liked to be difficult for his new task masters. "Oh?" was all he said, feigning interest. He was curious what SHIELD had come up with to explain the odd lapse in the man's memories after Harry had healed him. But he had never thought to ask after his well being.

"I suppose I had a nice time in Tahiti," Phil Coulson said. "I think I got a bad round of food poisoning though. Ended up in the hospital for part of it."

"Always be careful when drinking the local water, Agent Coulson."

"Of course, Mr. Potter."

Harry turned to go, but stopped when the man spoke again. "They needed something to bring them together," he said. "There wasn't time to do things the normal way."

"When I got to you, Agent Coulson, you were little more than a vegetable kept alive by machines. I could see Death waiting in the corner of the room for you to finally pass. I snatched you from his grasp once. I will not do so a second time if you are so foolish as to allow yourself to be murdered again."

"You can see Death? Can all of your people see such creatures?"

"I alone can see Death. I am his Master, as I am Master of all his kith and kin. Do not throw your life away again. It has more value than you think."

 

**o0o**

 

Harry had tuned him out a while ago as he sat working on his laptop. A gift from Tony that, after extensive testing, wouldn't blow up if he accioed it while it was turned on. They hadn't gone out on a mission for a while and he was due to move into the Tower soon - though Tony didn't know that. He believed the mysterious and caustic Agent Grim would be doing so.

The old wizard was just glad to be out of Bleaker Street at last and in his own bed at his own apartment. And if it happened to be the same apartment, just updated and refurbished, that he spent 3 months living in with Steve then... well.. coincidences happen.

Now though, he and Tony were sitting in an out of the way cafe in South Dakota.

Why South Dakota?

Apparently this was the one place in all of America that had the absolute best apple pie and since Harry was now living in America he just had to sample the best and most American of desserts.

Apparently.

The fact that Harry had been handed a photograph of the place and ordered without room for argument to apperate them both there from Central Park meant absolutely nothing. Nothing at all...

"So why are we really here?" Harry asked, looking up from his now empty e-mail inbox. He never really got any e-mails. Most of the people he knew were still completely ignorant of the muggle world. No, he just had thousands and thousands of spam e-mails to deal with. From newsletters and websites he signed up for just so he would have something to sort through in his inbox. "I mean the pie is good and all but-"

"You're right. The ice cream here is terrible. We should get some from this place in Massachusetts. You'll love it. Better than that Fortescue's stuff you have back in England."

"The ice cream is fine, Tony. A bit too sweet for me, actually."

"It's just vanilla."

"And it's a little too sweet for me personally. Now stop avoiding the question. Why are we really here?"

"Can't I just spend some time with my dad?"

"I was never able to really be your dad and you know it."

"Cousin then."

"Tony... We could have easily argued semantics on a plane ride here."

"Alright fine. Pepper wants me to see a therapist."

"Everyone's been saying that for years."

"Yeah... well... everyone's right. The SHIELD shrinks think I have PTSD."

Harry nodded. This he already knew quite well, having seen Tony during missions and after. "And?"

Tony stabbed at a rogue piece of apple left on his plate, swimming in melted ice cream. "There's got to be some magic fix right?"

"I'm sorry to say that there isn't. If there were, I'd have done it years ago."

"So you can't just magic away the trauma? Or, I don't know, replace it with something else? Everyone thinks Coulson went to Tahiti. Hell, HE thinks he went to Tahiti. But he didn't. He died. I saw the footage myself. I watched Loki stab him right through the chest. Hell, Captain America saw it, too. We all did. Except the new guy. Don't even get me started on the new guy."

Harry smirked. "So you really just wanted to vent about the new guy. Does Miss Potts believe you are at a therapy session right now?"

"No."

"Yes," piped up JARVIS from Tony's phone in his pocket loud enough for them both to hear. "Miss Potts has also been informed that you are visiting with Harry, though she does believe that you are hiding somewhere in New York and not in Mitchell, South Dakota."

Harry snickered as Tony called JARVIS a traitor.

"At least he didn't tell her you magically popped into South Dakota for a piece of apple pie without the jet."

"Are you kidding me? She already thinks I need to see a therapist. Next she'll be picking out the perfect straight jacket."

When the two men settled back down, Harry sighed. "There isn't a magic fix for this though Tony. And Miss Potts is right. You do need to see someone and at least talk about it. If you don't you'll turn into a miserable old bastard like both your dads. As for the other thing... the new guy. Why don't you get on with him?" he asked despite knowing exactly why.

"He's an asshole."

"So are you."

"Even to Cap."

"Well, not everyone can be a ray of sunshine, Tony. So he doesn't give the eternal boy scout special treatment. Do you think he should? After all the stories you've recited to me from Howard I don't think you'd mind really."

"Yeah. But it's Cap. No one is an asshole to Cap. Except me. But I have good reason."

"Sure you do," Harry said sarcastically, closing his laptop and setting it off to the side. "Look Tony. If you want my advice, which clearly you do but won't admit it because your ego is bigger than old Cornelius Fudge, just give the guy some time. You have to remember he's from my world. He's not used to working alongside muggles unless its for short term things. He needs time to settle and to find his place on the team. A team that has a founding member missing if the news reports are correct."

"Yeah Thor booked it back home with his brother."

Harry nodded. This, he knew. Both as Harry, who had been told by Tony. And as Grim who was briefed before accepting his part in WARD and SHIELD's deal. "For all you know the man beneath that hood is a pureblood from one of the old families."

"That would make sense..."

"Yes. So if he is, then I imagine his asshole attitude is a self defense mechanism. Here he is stuck working with and living among muggles. He is there to do a job and possibly doesn't understand muggle social conventions at all. He will need time to ease into the role he has on your team."

"I don't trust him. I can't see his face."

"I'm not telling you to trust him, Tony. I'm just telling you to give him time to adjust. The culture shock alone must be absolutely terrifying for him."

They spent the remainder of Tony's 'therapy session' debating which was better: muggle ice cream or wizard ice cream.

Both agreed to keep the secret Prewitt Family Recipe, as it was passed from Molly Weasley to all the Weasley Wives through her portrait in the kitchen, out of the debate. Neither man had ever tasted anything better.

The mention of Phil Coulson's not actually trip to Tahiti seemingly forgotten.

 

**o0o**

 

Another mission.

Another report handwritten in unreadable chicken-scratch on an archaic looking parchment scroll.

"Why does no one remember?"

"Oh they remember, Agent Coulson. They just don't think about it."

"How does that work?"

"A specialized form of a notice-me-not spliced with a Fidellis Charm. It was an invention of my best friend during wartime. We've used it to keep information, even people secret."

"That could be very useful for what we do."

"I imagine it could. But muggles are incapable of perform such a feat. Even those like Mr. Strange could not do it, as such magic requires natural skill and talents not even he possesses."

"Do your colleagues at WARD use this piece of magic?"

"No. And very few know it exists. But only because I was forced to swear them in on the Secret. They cannot inform anyone else, though. Magic interferes with the transfer of information." He shrugged. "Is that all, Agent Coulson?"

The man tucked the scroll under his arm and nodded. "Dismissed, Mr. Potter."

 

**o0o**

 

Natasha rolled her shoulders and sighed in relief. "Okay, now that is a handy trick to have."

"You've got no idea," Clint said, grateful to not be the one injured this time.

Harry smiled beneath his hood. It seemed since his talk with Tony in South Dakota, the genius had started to lay off Grim some. Though he still didn't trust him, he didn't give any reason for an argument to break out. And that was enough for Harry.

Since he joined the team, visits to medical were drastically cut down after a mission. Something they were all grateful for.

Harry was just putting his salves and poultices away when he heard a voice from the doorway behind him.

"I told you they were good for patching us up after a fight."

Harry's movements stilled. "Yes... Well... I thank you for your faith in my people's healing abilities, Captain Rogers," he said, quickly finishing his packing and hurrying from the room.

"What's his problem?" he heard Clint ask from the corridor.

"Tony said he was still adjusting," Natasha replied. "Something about not being used to dealing with our kind."

He didn't stick around to hear more.

 

**o0o**

 

"No injuries this time?"

"Nat had both shoulders dislocated and was poisoned by a series of blow darts. Nothing I couldn't handle," Harry said, feet on the desk as Coulson looked over the scroll he'd brought in. "Didn't think you usually read my reports."

"I'm the only one that can read your handwriting."

"Really?"

"Really. It helps that I've spent years deciphering Clint's. He's worse than you are."

"for a man with such sharp eyesight, you'd expect his handwriting would be neater."

"He does it out of spite," was all he said to that as he finished reading and rolled it back up. "Good work."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean the mission. I tried to talk to Maria about what happened to me. Found I kept speaking gibberish."

Harry smiled beneath his hood, knowing that in this instance the man would see it. He'd stopped using the Obscurius Imitatus around Coulson for their little one on one meetings. He genuinely liked the guy, and it wasn't like the man could tell people who didn't already know who he was about it anyway. "You're curious. You want to know who you can and can't talk to about it don't you?"

"I admit I'm intrigued. Director Fury, obviously, is one. Who else?"

"As caster and subject, we can discuss it of course. I can tell anyone I wish, but they cannot pass on that information. Those present when the spell work was cast can speak to one another or you, but again, cannot pass the information to someone who I have not personally told."

Coulson nodded as he listened. "You mentioned not just keeping information secret, but people as well."

"Yes. It's trickier to pull off, but effective when you can. I haven't personally been able to redirect the thoughts and actions of others in that regard, but the one who created the spell work has. Once. And that was based on the work of another."

"I see... Who may I ask was it cast on?"

"My godson's mother. She was pregnant for part of the war and her husband didn't want her to be a target."

"Amazing."

"Yes. Quite."

"So what happens when the caster dies? Does the secret come undone or-"

"With a normal Fidellis, if the secret keeper dies then everyone who knows the secret becomes the new secret keeper. It's the largest flaw in the spell. Lucky for you, I'm your secret keeper."

"And you don't die."

"I do, I just don't stay dead. But don't worry. Even if I'm dead for an hour, the spell work won't come undone. Not until I decide it can be undone." He pulled his legs back and put his feet on the floor. “Will that be all for today, Agent Coulson?”

The man nodded, now with a lot more to think about. “You’re dismissed, Mr. Potter.”


End file.
